Blood flowed heavily from Vaughn’s nose. When he tried to get up, Tray shoved him back down.
“Let me up!”
“Not until I have your promise you’ll leave Alyssa alone.”
“Never!”
Tray’s face darkened with anger as he digested his half brother’s one-word answer. “All right, have it your way,” Tray snarled softly. “Get out of here, Vaughn. You hear me? When I let you up, I want you gone from Shadowhawk. Don’t ever step foot onto this manor again.”
Vaughn glared at him. “And if I do?”
“I’ll kill you.”
Vaughn lay back, staring up at his half brother in disbelief. “You’re mad! You’ll hang from the gallows.”
Tray gave Vaughn a nerveless smile, his gray eyes glittering like ice. “It would be an even trade, half brother.” Tray got to his feet, careful to keep himself between Alyssa and Vaughn. “Now get out of here. I’ll see that Craddock packs your belongings and Thomas prepares the carriage.”
Vaughn shakily got to his feet, holding his jaw. “Father won’t let you get away with this!”
Tray flexed the bruised and bloodied knuckles of his right hand and brushed several strands of hair off his forehead. “If Father comes, he’ll come without you. Whatever involves Shadowhawk is my business, not yours, Vaughn. Don’t let me see your face here again.”
Angrily, Vaughn brushed the straw from his tailored trousers, giving Alyssa one last, deadly look. “I hope you spawn devils between you,” he snarled.
Tray waited until Vaughn had made his way out of the stable, slamming the door behind him, before he turned to Alyssa. He didn’t trust his half brother not to jump him from behind. Releasing an oath, Tray turned. Alyssa sat huddled in the corner, knees drawn up to her body. Her hair lay around her face and shoulders in disarray. The lines of his mouth softened and his eyes grew dark with concern as he came and knelt in front of her, his hands coming to rest on her trembling shoulders. She looked straight into his eyes, confusion and fear in her expression.
“I’m sorry, Aly,” he apologized softly. “Are you all right? Did he hurt you, little one?”
She opened her mouth, her gaze widening. “Tray?” she asked, her voice wobbling.
He frowned, his hands becoming firmer on her shoulders. She was so pale, her flesh was nearly translucent. Damn Vaughn! He had frightened her so badly that she seemed to have lost her senses. “Yes, it’s me. Alyssa, are you going to faint? Do you want me to—”
With a little cry, she freed her hands from their grip around her knees and reached out, her fingertips barely grazing Tray’s drawn face. This man, this giant of a man whose wide shoulders blotted out the light as he leaned over her, was Tray. The dark expression on his face clashed with the soft urgency of his voice. Poignantly, among all her cartwheeling thoughts, Alyssa remembered him saying that he was ugly. No! No, he wasn’t! She hungrily absorbed all she could of him in those fleeting seconds. His hair was a bluish black, softly waving and framing his strong, square face. She looked beyond the harshness of his features to the concern emanating from his intelligent gray eyes, eyes that drew her into the burning light of their depths. She quickly slipped her exploring gaze past his aristocratic nose to his well-shaped mouth, which pulled naturally upward at the corners, as she had discovered last night. No, he was not ugly, not someone to cringe away from! When she found her voice it was filled with unparalleled joy.
“Tray, I can see…I can see….”
He recoiled slightly, as if she had struck him. “What?”
Alyssa gave a choked laugh, crawling to her knees, tears streaming down her cheeks as she held his suddenly fearful gray gaze. “Yes! I started to see when I was here, in the stall,” she cried, her words rushing like a torrent from a waterfall. “Everything started getting light—I thought the sun was shining in on me from the window. A-and then, I saw my hand as it rested against Ned.”
His joy matched her own as he gripped her shoulder. “You can see?” he rasped. “You can actually see?”
She let out a little cry of happiness. “Yes. Oh, yes!”
It was true. As Tray scrutinized her intently in those breathless seconds of wonder, her eyes held a gold spark in their shining depths. “Sweet God,” he breathed, “it’s true! I can see new life in your eyes, Aly.”
She sobbed, her hands against her mouth as she stared across the inches that separated them, her emerald eyes alight with joy. “Oh, Tray, I can see you. I can see you….”
Something died inside of Tray and he swallowed hard, unable to hold her shimmering gaze. She was so beautiful, and he was far from it. If his features did not turn her away from him, then his deformity surely would. Tray choked against the sudden bitterness that welled up within him and tried to counter the agony ripping him apart with Alyssa’s bubbling happiness. All that they had established, their intimacy, the hours spent in quiet companionship with each other, shattered before him. Tray tried to hide his disappointment, tried to be happy for her. His head snapped up as he felt her hesitant touch upon the corner of his mouth.
“You’re bleeding,” she whispered, reaching down and retrieving his white linen handkerchief. Alyssa moved forward on her knees until they rested against his large, hard-muscled thigh. Her eyes were jade with concern as she gently pressed the cloth against his mouth.
He grimaced and took the handkerchief from her, barely meeting her eyes. “It’s nothing. Just a small cut. Vaughn never could do much damage to me,” Tray muttered.
Alyssa remained at his side, sitting back on her heels, hands resting in her lap as he daubed at the cut. “You saved me,” she whispered. “I was never so frightened. It was as if he would do it all—”
“It’s over,” he told her wearily, wrestling with the heaviness now weighing his heart. “He won’t try it again. I can promise you that.”
Her gaze worriedly swept across Tray’s face. “The side of your face is swelling. I think I can stand now. Please, let me take care of you. Let me get some cool water on your cheek….”
Tray winced as she carefully touched his bruised flesh. His heart was heavy with silent anguish. When he stood up, she would know. She would realize he was clubfooted. Deformed. And then—he heaved a tortured sigh—then she would shrink away from him, and the tenderness he saw resting in her lovely emerald gaze would quickly turn to disgust. She would think him the spawn of the devil….
Tray tried to put his own pain aside for her sake. “With Vaughn leaving, it means you no longer have to sleep with me,” he told her curtly, rising to his feet. “You’re free to go back to your own bedchamber now, Alyssa. Come, give me your hand. It’s chilly out here and you’re still recovering.”
Alyssa blinked once, stunned by his abruptness. She placed her hand in his, wildly aware of a new warmth tingling through her hand as he gently drew her upward to stand on her own feet. He brought her to his right side, his hand resting beneath her elbow. Tray opened the door and then closed it, leaving Old Ned in peace.
Tray silently endured Alyssa’s looks as they walked toward the manor. He could feel the flick of her eyes upon him from time to time as he limped with every damn step he took. He wanted to hide his deformity somehow and felt the helpless rage of knowing he could not. At the door, he risked a glance down at Alyssa. She had bowed her head, lips pressed together, her thick auburn lashes hiding her true feelings as if she were ashamed to be seen with him. Once they were inside, he released her.
“Sorche will look in on you. I’ll have Craddock send a rider for Dr. Birch. He will have to examine your eyes.” He led the way down the hall and stopped to open the door to her bedchamber. He hated himself for sounding clipped and hard. This was a time for celebration. Alyssa had regained her sight. She could now see those sunsets once again and gaze upon the gulls that floated against the blue of the sky. Tray’s mouth tightened as he pushed the door open. “This is your room,” he stated, and turned to leave.
“Tray?”
He froz
e as he heard the tremble of hurt in Alyssa’s soft voice. He couldn’t face her; he didn’t want to see the look of pity in her eyes. “What is it?” he growled impatiently.
Alyssa took a step toward him. “Your cuts. Do you want me to—”
“No. Just have Sorche look after you. I’m going to make sure Vaughn gets on that coach and leaves.”
Stung by his rejection, Alyssa slowly turned away, feeling the sting of tears brimming over in her eyes. She watched as Tray walked with a broken stride down the walnut-paneled hall. Finally Alyssa turned and went into her bedchamber.
Her brief depression was lifted by the kaleidoscopic deluge of sensations her newly healed eyes beheld. She stood entranced on the thick, ivory carpet, staring like an awestruck child at her richly appointed surroundings. The walls were a pale pink in color, white ruffled feminine curtains embraced each window and a lovely dark pink quilt covered the canopied bed. Stunned, Alyssa sat down in the mahogany chair, which was covered with ivory silk. This was the chair where she had sat so many times before, warming herself by the fire and thinking….
She had little time to revel in her miracle, for Maura raced into her room, skirts flying, breathless with joy. On her heels came Sorche with a broad smile. Alyssa and Sorche embraced, tears flowing freely between them. The older woman held Alyssa at arm’s length, half laughing and half crying.
“You look exactly like I thought you would,” Alyssa sobbed, trying in vain to wipe her cheeks dry.
Sorche grinned happily, patting her arm. “Plenty of time to look at all of us, lamb. Come, you should sit down. Can’t strain those eyes too much until Dr. Birch arrives.”
Alyssa clasped Sorche’s gnarled fingers. “Please,” she begged softly, “Tray’s been hurt—”
“What?” Sorche drew her thin brows down.
Alyssa gulped back a sob. “Vaughn attacked me again. In the stable. Please, go to Tray, Sorche. He won’t let me dress his wounds.” Alyssa bit hard on her lower lip. “I—I think he’s angry with me.” She wrung the words out.
“Impossible!” Sorche exploded, picking up her skirts and waddling toward the door. “He’s probably more upset over Vaughn’s trickery than anything else. He cares a great deal for you—I’m sure he’s just throttling his rage to keep from killing Vaughn! Never you mind, Alyssa. Tray’s upset all right, but not at you. That I’m sure of. Now you just rest. Maura will see to your needs.”
Sorche heard the shouting long before she reached the carriage house. She arrived in time to see Vaughn take a step inside the coach. He turned sharply toward Tray. “This isn’t over yet, half brother. I’m going to Father. And I swear, you’ll regret ever saving that Irishwoman from the death cart. I’ll make you rue that day for the rest of your life.”
Tray’s gray eyes grew feral. “Try it, Vaughn, you spineless bastard.”
Sorche gritted her teeth, yanking Tray away from where the horses pranced nervously in their traces.
“Tray, stop this! Let it go!” she said as Vaughn’s coach pulled away. “There are others who need your attention far worse than that young, arrogant pup!”
“What do you mean?” he growled.
“Aren’t you happy that Alyssa’s eyesight is back? Mother Mary! You’re pouting and sulking like an old broody hen who’s had her eggs stolen out from under her!”
Tray scowled, gingerly touching his aching cheekbone. “What are you snapping about?”
Sorche came to a stop at the door to the manor, puffing madly, her round cheeks blazing with color. “Alyssa was in tears! She thinks you’re angry with her. Mother Mary, Saint Joseph and Peter, you act as if she’s dead or something!”
Tray’s scowl deepened as he looked down at his foster mother. “Might as well be. You weren’t there when she first looked at me, Sorche. And then, when I got up and she saw me limp, she couldn’t even look at me.”
“Bah! I ought to box your ears! You think Alyssa finds you too ugly to look at? Is that it?”
Tray felt the flush of heat in his cheeks and looked beyond Sorche, who stood like an angry banshee between him and the door. “I know women don’t find me…appealing.”
Sorche glared, waving her fist up at him. “Tristan Trayhern, if I was tall enough, I would box your ears!”
Tray grinned belatedly. Sorche never called him by his full name. She was all red, like a ripe September apple, blustering and caterwauling. “To what do I owe the honor of all this?” he teased.
“You realize you’re more blind than Alyssa ever was? If you had been with me in there when I went flying to her bedchamber, you’d change your pitiful tune, Tray! There she was, sitting by the fire looking sad when she’s got her sight back. And you know why, you young, impertinent whelp?”
He combed his fingers through his hair, beginning to feel some of his fear abating beneath Sorche’s scolding. “I have the feeling if I don’t ask why, you’ll box my ears,” he said dryly, the hard planes of his face easing. “Why?”
“Because,” Sorche sputtered in Gaelic, “she was more worried about you than anything else! She was in tears, begging me to go after you, saying you wouldn’t even allow her to tend those wounds on your thick skull.”
Hope rose with fear. “She said I was thickheaded?”
“No, I’m saying it!”
“She was worried about me?”
Sorche shook her head. “More than you deserve, you stubborn Welshman!”
Tray’s eyes lightened a bit. “Then you don’t want to tend my wounds?”
“That’s Alyssa’s responsibility, not mine! Now get in there. Next time I see her, I want to see those tears gone and a smile on her face.”
“Yes, madam,” he murmured, bowing deeply and then ushering her through the door.
* * *
Maura had just left Alyssa’s bedchamber when Tray stopped at the door. He knocked softly.
“Come in…”
Tray braced himself emotionally to face Alyssa and quietly entered the room. She stood by the window, the sunlight streaming through the crystal, highlighting her abundant burgundy tresses, now brushed and shining around her shoulders. Tray’s eyes widened in appreciation as his hungry gaze swept from her beribboned hair to the simple country dress of pale lavender and lace. She held a book between her hands and was poised like a deer ready for flight.
“Sorche said I’d better come and let you tend me or she’d box my ears,” he said in way of a greeting.
Alyssa’s eyes softened. “Yes, please, come in. Sit here by the fire. I’ll go to the water closet and get a cloth….” She pulled the chair out, placing it more closely to the hearth. Her voice was breathless as she hurried out of the chamber, a flush covering her cheeks.
Tray waited until Alyssa had disappeared before limping over to the chair. He took off his dark blue wool coat, throwing it on the end of her bed. Was he going mad? Did she truly seem happy to see him? Or was she pretending because she didn’t have the heart to hurt him?
Alyssa brought a porcelain bowl filled with warm water, soap and a cloth, setting it beside the chair. The anxious look on her face made him wince inwardly. She was fluttering nervously around him, her fingers trembling as she gently cleansed the cut at the corner of his mouth and the scrape on his swelling cheek. He gazed up at her, sinking into the cradle of her womanly scent and beauty.
“How are your eyes?” Damnation! He still sounded gruff and curt.
“Improving.” She shyly glanced down at him, a hesitant start of a smile on her lips. “I can see the print in the book now. A while ago, it was blurred.”
Tray cleared his throat. “Good.” Did he have to sound so formal? God’s blood, he was more nervous than she was! She patted his skin dry and then knelt in front of him. “Your hand?”
“Huh? Oh, my hand…” Tray steeled himself against her gentle touch. He should be the one kneeling in front of her. She was the one who had suffered indignity at Vaughn’s hands, not he.
“Your whole hand is swollen,” Alyssa w
hispered, distressed by his bloodied and bruised knuckles. She was secretly thrilled to be able to hold his large, well-shaped hand between her own. It was covered with thick calluses on the palm, but the nails were clean and blunt cut—a hand that could be so gentle when touching her, holding her.
“It was worth it,” Tray growled, taking savage pleasure in remembering the feel of Vaughn’s nose breaking beneath the force of his fist. Tray’s expression was guarded as he held her unwavering gaze. “Tell me, do you think my face lives up to last night’s inspection?” His stomach knotted and he tensed, waiting for her answer.
Alyssa laughed softly and finished tending to his hand. She gave him a shy smile. “You look even better than what my fingers told me.”
Tray felt the cold knot in his stomach dissolve and he straightened up, a sense of utter euphoria making him feel light-headed. “You mean I don’t make you run and scream?”
She frowned suddenly. “Of course not. You’re not an ogre.”
“Some women think I am.”
Alyssa shrugged. “Just as you pride yourself on knowing people, Tray, I pride myself in being able to read a face.”
“Indeed?”
“Yes, my lord. As I told you last night, eyes set close together forebode evil. Vaughn has such eyes.”
A wry smile pulled at Tray’s mouth as he rose from the chair. “My lady, if it wouldn’t tax you too much, I’d like to continue our fascinating discussion. Perhaps if we drink a cup of chocolate before retiring, we’ll both sleep well in our individual beds. Would you honor me with your presence in my bedchamber at, say, ten tonight?”
Alyssa flushed, demurely lowering her lashes. With a curtsy that would put even the most fashionable, titled ladies to shame, she agreed.
Chapter Eleven
Tray hid the beginning of a smile as he saw Alyssa confidently walk out to meet him in front of the stable. Today, they were off to the lambing pastures, which lay nestled in the gray rocky mountains to the southeast of Shadowhawk. The morning was fresh, and sunlight lanced the gathering clouds from the north. A stimulating ocean breeze was making the horses restless, but Tray sat easily upon Rasheed, who was doing more than his share of pawing and snorting, eager to be off. The perturbed look on Sorche’s face as she bustled after Alyssa made Tray swallow his smile.
Lord of Shadowhawk Page 14